


Gray

by BonitaBreezy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I just wanted cuddling and a little bit of arguing, I write Stiles way too nice its a problem, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, also that is literally the worst summary, i apologize for everything, married sterek, ngl this is totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/pseuds/BonitaBreezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds a few gray hairs and it really messes with his head.  Stiles helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I saw a gif of Tyler Hoechlin talking about having some gray hairs. I should be working on my Check Please fic damn it. Also applying for jobs.  
> I wrote this in like an hour so if it sucks that's why.

Stiles groaned under his breath as his third alarm started beeping.  The third alarm was the last alarm, the one that meant he had enough time to shower and get dressed before he had to be out the door and on the way to work.  It meant no breakfast, no time to stop at Starbucks and, worst of all, no time for any morning canoodling.

“Derek,” he grumbled, knowing his husband, with his freaky werewolf superpowers, would hear him from anywhere in the house. “Make me some coffee.”

He practically dragged himself out of bed, mourning the loss of soft sheets and his horizontal position.  Being awake was _the worst_.  He scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face as he headed for the bathroom, hating that he’d agreed to trade shifts with Jordan, meaning he was working a turnaround.  He definitely owed Jordan about a million favors, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He was surprised to find Derek in the bathroom when he got there.  He was standing in front of the mirror in only a towel, frowning at himself in the mirror.  He was leaned so close his breath was fogging the glass, and he kept rubbing at his beard, like he was trying to wipe it off.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow at the display.

Derek didn’t acknowledge him for a second, and then he snapped his eyes away from the mirror to look at Stiles instead.

“What?” he said, like he hadn’t heard a word Stiles had said, which was odd.  Derek was a serial eavesdropper; he heard everything.

“Derek, are you okay?”  Stiles asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Derek said distractedly, his eyes flashing towards the mirror again.  It wasn’t super convincing.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked. “Because you’re not usually this enamored with your own reflection.  Like, don’t get me wrong, if I were as gorgeous as you I’d probably never stop looking in a mirror, but you’re usually better about looking past your own beauty.”

“I’m fine,” Derek said, running his hand over his beard again.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and pushed closer to inspect Derek’s face, wondering if there was something he just didn’t see.  Derek didn’t even glance at him or huff in annoyance like he usually would, so Stiles knew that something was seriously wrong.

“Babe,” he said, “Seriously, you’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek insisted. “Just…”

“Just _what_?” Stiles demanded.

“I’ve got some gray hairs,” Derek admitted, his voice low.

Stiles stopped and stared at him for a full thirty seconds before he started laughing.

“Oh my god, Der,” he said. “Where?”

“There!” Derek exclaimed, pointing to a spot on his chin, where, surely enough, there were four silver hairs standing out amongst the black.  Stiles laughed even harder, which earned him a glare.

“So you’re getting old!” he said. “It happens to the best of us, Der.  Anyway, you’re only thirty-three, I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not _freaking out_ ,” Derek pouted. “I just…”

“You are gorgeous no matter what hair color you have, okay?” Stiles assured him, pressing a kiss to his chin, right over the offending gray hairs. “Besides, I’m kind of into it.”

That distracted Derek from his woes for a moment, long enough for him to turn away from the mirror with raised eyebrows.

“Really?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said. “Can I call you ‘daddy’?”

Derek’s scowl returned full force and he rolled his eyes powerfully.

“I hate you,” he grumbled. “Get in the shower.”

“Love you, too!” Stiles simpered, but he did strip down and step into the shower.  He had wasted precious minutes, dealing with Derek’s crisis, and now he didn’t even have time to get dressed.

Derek was gone by the time he was out of the shower and dressed, and he hadn’t even made him coffee.  Asshole.  Since he was already late anyway, Stiles decided to stop at Starbucks and grab a gigantic, sugary coffee for himself and something a little more tame for his dad to make up for his tardiness.

His dad hadn’t been impressed and had demanded the sugary coffee instead of the Americano Stiles had tried to offer him.  Stiles gave it to him, since his dad had the power to give him the seriously shitty jobs, and went about his day thinking mournfully of the Caramel Macchiato he’d only gotten a few sips of.

The day was uneventful and mostly consisted of catching up on paperwork and the arrest of one woman for abusing the 911 system.  It turned out to be the best part of his day, though, since apparently she had been calling to try and convince the dispatcher to give her Parrish’s phone number because he was “such a pretty man, honey, and I could use some male company, if you know what I mean”.  Keeping a straight face while he Mirandized her was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and Stiles had once had to knock out a werewolf with only a baseball bat and a prayer.

Even though the day was pretty chill, the turnaround made it exhausting, so when Stiles got home that night he basically ate dinner and went to bed.  Derek was out doing wolfy things with Cora, so he fell asleep alone, curled around Derek’s pillow in their big bed.

* * *

The next morning, when Stiles woke up alone, he knew something wasn’t right.

Derek, as much as he put off a gruff and grumpy exterior, was actually the softest, cuddliest man on the planet, and when they both had the same day off, they always spent half the morning lazing around in bed together, cuddling and kissing and talking about their lives and upcoming events.  It was honestly Stiles’ favorite part of the week, and he knew it was Derek’s too.  He wouldn’t miss it for no reason.

“Derek?” he called, rolling out of bed and straightening out his t-shirt, which had twisted around his torso as he slept.

He made his way downstairs, checking each room as he passed it, and then out into the backyard where he finally found Derek curled up in the comfiest chair on the deck.  He was looking out over their backyard, his gaze focused on a spot in the center of the pool, and he had a cup of coffee held loosely in his hand, but it didn’t look like he’d actually drank any of it.

“Babe,” Stiles said, coming around the front of the chair to kneel in front of Derek, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Derek said, snapping his eyes away from the pool to look Stiles in the face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re so not fine,” Stiles argued. “You were like a zombie yesterday and now you’re out here staring at still water instead of inside with me.  You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles agreed. “But that snide comment makes it seem like this _is_ about me.  And even though you’re full-on pouting like a toddler right now, I’m still pretty fond of you and I don’t want you to be upset…”

“I’m not pouting,” Derek snapped. “And I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Stiles demanded, wracking his brains for anything he could have done since yesterday morning to piss Derek off.  They’d hardly even _seen_ each other in the past twenty-four hours, he wasn’t sure what he could have…

“Is this because I made fun of your gray hairs?” Stiles demanded, with sudden clarity. “Because I was joking, Derek.  I don’t know why you’re being so sensitive it’s not like you’re really old…”

“I’m not mad at you!”  Derek snapped again. “Can you just get over yourself for three fucking seconds?”

“Well, then what the fuck is your problem?” Stiles hissed, his hackles rising.

He loved  Derek, but he hated the way he could get so defensive and shut down sometimes.  He understood why he did it, and he knew he just made it worse by needling Derek and jabbing at his fleshy, wounded parts to hurt him when he was angry, but that didn’t mean it didn’t drive him crazy.  They’d had more fights come from Derek shutting down and Stiles getting catty than from anything else.  Stiles hated it, and he knew Derek did too.  They were trying to work on it.  Apparently it was working because he saw Derek sheath his claws-figuratively, of course-and draw back.  He took a deep breath and then let it out.

“I don’t want to fight, Stiles,” he said.

“I don’t either,” Stiles said, taking his own calming breath. “I just want to know what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” Derek sighed. “I just...you’re kind of right.  It is about the gray, but it’s not because I’m bothered about getting old.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, determined to listen without jumping to conclusions. “What is it, then?”

“I realized, yesterday, that I look a lot like my dad.  I mean...I knew that.  People always told me so.  But he had the same thing, the gray in his beard, and it just kind of hit me.”

“Oh,” Stiles said quietly, feeling even worse for almost starting a fight when Derek was already feeling like shit.  He knew exactly what that felt like.  His mom had only been 32 when she died, and he’d often thought about what it would be like to be older than she ever managed to be.

“Yeah,” Derek said. “And I can’t stop thinking about how one day I’ll look older than he ever did, and looking at myself will be like looking at my dad, like I never got to see him.  And then I start thinking about how Laura never got to start going gray either.  I’m older than my older sister ever got to be, and I’m married and...I’m happy and she’ll never have that and I....”

“Hey,” Stiles cooed, climbing up into Derek’s lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Hey, shh.  It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Derek said, his voice angry but his face broken and sad. “It’s _my fault_.”

“It is not your fault,” Stiles argued. “You know it’s not your fault, Derek, come on.  You know it’s not.  It’s just the survivor’s guilt eating at you, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said dully, burying his face in Stiles’ neck.  Stiles ran a comforting hand through his and over the back of his neck, pressing a kiss against his head.  Even with weekly therapy sessions, Derek still hadn’t quite managed to let go of the guilt and self-loathing he had gained from the death of his family.  He had gotten better, but Stiles wasn’t sure he would ever be rid of it entirely.

“It’s not fair,” Stiles said quietly. “What happened to her.  It’s not fair what happened to any of them.  But you know that Laura would be so fucking happy about your life, right?  She would be so happy to know that you have a pack and a family and that you’re in love and happy and living your life.”

“You didn’t even know her,” Derek grumbled petulantly, pulling his face from Stiles’ neck to look up at him.  It sounded resistant, but Stiles knew that he had his attention, and that he was really listening.

“No,” Stiles agreed. “But she was your sister and your alpha and I know that she just wanted you to be happy.  This life you’re living right now is the best way to honor them.  Not being angry and scared, but being sure of your place and being safe and loved and getting gray hairs.”

He tweaked Derek’s chin then, and he huffed out a breath and eked out a tiny smile and Stiles pressed a kiss to his mouth.

“Your family lives on in you and Cora,” Stiles told him when he pulled away. “Like my mom lives on in me and my dad.  We live for them, and they deserve the best things and all the happiness in the world right?”

“Right,” Derek agreed.

“Then I think you’re doing well by them,” Stiles said. “And I know they’d be proud of you.  Because I’m proud of you.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek agreed, pressing his forehead against Stiles’, his eyes drifting shut. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Stiles said. “Now, do you want to come back upstairs with me?”

Derek nodded, so Stiles climbed off his lap and offered him a hand.  

Derek took it.

 


End file.
